


Hang On

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming In Pants, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensuality, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs it quick and dirty—Castiel has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang On

It starts out in a frantic rush of limbs and a vehemence unrecognizable to him on a good day. Castiel pins him to the wall the second Dean unlocks and swings the door to their hotel room open, rattling the hideous portraits of barren fields and empty spaces, one threatening to careen to the floor. It’s a collision of teeth and tongue at first, hands gripping the others hips, arms, Castiel successfully managing to pin Dean to the panel board with his wrists held high with some struggle. They don’t stay there for long – Dean’s prone display is replaced with adamancy to make it to the bed, and he shoves Castiel away once the pressure lessens, tugging that coat off the Angel’s shoulders into a puddle on the floor, shedding his own along the way, each time recapturing his lips in an equally brutal kiss.

They’re in a motel outside of Hays, purely because Castiel was in the area and Dean needed to leave the Bunker. ‘Gotta get some air,’ was his excuse—being cooped up in a windowless prison was enough to get on anyone’s nerves; there was only so much pacing and reading he could do before his skin began to crawl. Castiel’s text was a reprieve, a reason to break free for a few hours, maybe a night at the most.

An address, a room number, and one word – ‘now.’ A regularly two-hour drive took him one in the dark of night, speeding down desolate two-lanes into a town already shut down. He barely gets out of the car before Castiel is on him and forcing him inside, against the wall, into the pristine sheets, all without preamble. It’s carnal, a race to get off, uncaring if their fingers leave behind bruises, if unclipped nails leave blood trails across marred flesh. He shouldn't be as loud as he is, but somewhere along the way, his inhibitions and sense of decency fled the scene and took off into the desert.

The tie is the first to go when Castiel pins him into the musty sheets, hips straddling his own, belt undone and hanging half out of its loops. He’s hard, tenting his briefs beneath his slacks; they both are, a pulse thrumming beneath their skin, an itch dying to be scratched. He watches Castiel’s brows furrow in concentration as he slides the slick fabric of his tie through his fingers, obviously thinking better of his idea. He could use the tie, Dean knows—strap him to the headboard and have his way with him, make him come until he begs Castiel to stop, until the sheets are damp with sweat and cum and they’re both too exhausted to leave the wet spot.

“Y’gonna tie me up, baby?” Dean asks him, mirthful, as their eyes catch in the distance between them, black eclipsing lamp-lit blue.

Castiel watches him for a brief second before replying, “Not tonight,” and casting the strip of cloth aside. Their mouths meet again in another rush of movement, Castiel’s fingers lodged in Dean’s hair, Dean’s hands struggling to unbutton the front of Castiel’s dress shirt, opting to rip it open in his urgency. He palms at the tanned flesh between kisses, rolling the Angel’s nipples between his thumbs and earning a sharp hiss in reply, Castiel nipping his lower lip in retaliation. “You’re wearing too much.”

He manages Castiel’s damaged shirt off with some effort, their mouths barely parting enough for air between each kiss. The longest they separate is to get Dean’s shirt over his head, Castiel effectively pinning his wrists in the pillows once their pants are discarded and scattered about the room, leaving them bare save for their briefs, tented and stained with precum, inches from touching, inches from the friction he so desperately needs.

The pace isn’t what Dean expects, what he wants. Castiel starts out slow, gripping his wrists hard as he grinds their erections— _finally_ —in a steady roll, Dean panting out obscenities in the air between them, warm breath escaping kiss-swollen lips. He finds himself arching up into the firm rock of their hips despite the growing frustration, his feet planted on the bed, urging Castiel to go harder, to hold him down, _use_ him. His pleas go unanswered, Castiel continuing his pace with shuddering sighs, eyes fluttering half lidded.

Dean watches him through each kiss, each parting, urging Castiel on with praises and lewd promises, stringing along a litany of unanswered curses. “Y’gonna fuck me, Cas? Wanna get your cock in me?” He answers none of it, content to keep at his pace, capturing Dean’s lips in languorous kisses and panting quiet moans into the silence of the room, mingling in with the occasional creak of the aging mattress.

He finally reaches up to palm at Castiel’s back once his grip slackens, one hand carding through the sweat-dampened strands of dark hair to tug the Angel closer, kissing a trail up his jaw to his ear, nipping the lobe, light. “C’mon, can’t keep this up forever.” He gasps at a particularly hard roll, the faintest hints of a smirk teasing the corner of Castiel’s lips.

“We’ll go as long as I tell you,” Castiel rumbles. He pulls Dean’s hands away and pins them above his head again, continuing the sinuous roll of his hips, Dean’s cock drooling lazily along the waistband of his briefs, fabric wet to the touch. “This isn’t about getting off, Dean,” Castiel whispers to him, hitching on his name.

Dean huffs a laugh, rocking back onto Castiel’s cock and moaning with it, feeling the combined wetness of them rubbing together, balls drawing up tighter with each grind. “What’s it about, then?” he asks. _If I could just reach down_ … Castiel latches onto that spot beneath his ear and sucks hard, every chance of a retort dying out with his groan.

“You’re always rushing into things.” Castiel pulls back to admire the mark he created, Dean swallowing audibly at the attention. “I want you to _feel_ it. Can you feel me?” He drops to Dean’s ear again, hissing, “Feel how hard I am.”

Something about the act, the entire _meaning_ of it, changes in the next kiss, Dean letting his body fall lax in Castiel’s hold, lowering his legs to the bedspread and allowing the Angel to rut against him, shameless, moaning in breathy pants between each thrust, now growing in fervency, harder, more desperate. He releases Dean’s hands and allows them to roam, Dean pulling him into a renewed kiss and stroking his free had down Castiel’s back, over his clothed ass, fingers wringing the fabric tight.

This isn’t about sex, he realizes belatedly—Castiel wants him to submit to this, to let himself be passive for once. To feel something he’s never gotten the chance to, take pleasure in his partner’s worship and revel in it. Let the Angel piece him back together again through the most carnal of activities. And they weren’t even _naked_. “Feel it,” Dean replies as he pulls back, lips wet, mouth parted. “ _Fuck_ , I _feel_ you.”

Castiel tugs his head back by his hair, sucking a new mark to his pulse point, Dean whining when he finally lets up, licking over the fresh bruise. “Relax,” Castiel tells him, breathless, voice shaking. “ _Relax_ , let go.”

Castiel comes first, body pulled taught in a beautiful arch above him, hips still grinding hard against Dean’s cock, and Dean pushes back just as rough, both hands clutching tight to Castiel’s ass and drawing him closer, so much closer, until their breathless moans mingle against the other’s skin and their shared release stains the front of their shorts. They come down in each other’s arms, Dean clinging desperately to Castiel’s shoulders, Castiel shuddering against Dean’s neck, until the aftershocks subside and the Angel rolls off him, lying at his side.

Dean watches the ceiling, smoothing a hand down his chest before rubbing over his cock, now waning, soaked through the thin fabric of his briefs. “Gonna have to get outta these,” he mumbles, working his thumbs under the waistband and tugging them down his hips to toss them across the room, landing half on the television set.

Castiel snorts at his side, turning to watch Dean as he lies back down; he takes Dean’s hand, smiles. “Did you like that?” he asks.

Dean closes his eyes and rolls onto his side, pulling Castiel in close, the Angel’s half-hard cock nudging his hip. _Interesting_. “So good,” he says, finally, sighing. “Y’wanna go again?”

To his shock, Castiel nods and palms his ass, lightly slapping one cheek. “Whenever you’re ready. I have no intentions of letting you rest tonight.”

Dean hums at that, rolling his hips again. “Let’s get you naked, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my drafts for...a month? Getting stuff done for this semester put it on the backburner and I completely forgot about it until this morning. So, have some slow sex! I have a thing about frottage lately, I need it _all_.
> 
> Time to work on DCBB now! I have another fic in mind too, but I might put that off for a bit, let's see how much I can get done of the first thing first.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
